If You're Going Through Hell (Keep Going)
by The Buzz
Summary: When Crowley shows up at Cas's door in the middle of the night with the news that Dean is missing, Cas's first reaction is to say, "Of course." As it turns out, Crowley's losing his hold on Hell and his enemies have kidnapped Dean. And now Cas and Crowley will have to work together if they want to get him back. (Set pre-Season 10. Lots of whump, snark, and awkward bonding.)
1. Chapter 1

_This story was written for drewbug, who has been one of my favorite authors since the early 2000s. The request was: a Crowley and Castiel adventure that involves whump on both sides._

 _The story is planned out but not written yet. I expect to post a chapter every week or two, or sooner if my schedule/life permits._

 _Finally, I have this set as Dean/Cas, but it will be one-sided for a good while since Dean will be a demon for much of the duration. Also, Crowley's awkward season 10 crush on Dean but it will probably make an appearance too._

 _Enjoy, and please leave a review if you do!_

* * *

Cas was trying to sleep. He'd cranked the heater before he climbed into bed, and pulled the thin motel blanket around himself, but it was still too cold in the room. A side effect of his failing grace, no doubt—along with the persistent headache, the tightness in his chest, and the way his joints ached every morning, it was as if a chill had settled somewhere deep in his bones and wouldn't leave him alone.

He picked his head up and glanced at the glowing numbers on the clock on the nightstand. 3:47. He dropped his head again to the pillow, pressing his face into it. Exhaustion was another thing that had been plaguing him for the last several months, but for some reason sleep didn't always come easy. Too many thoughts floated through his head: Dean was gone. Dean was alive. Dean was probably, if the lore he'd found meant anything, a demon.

Sighing, he turned over, so that he was staring up at the stained ceiling, wondering how the large vaguely butterfly-shaped blotch had gotten up there. Perhaps it was time to give up on sleeping for the night. Or perhaps—

He was startled from his thoughts by a three loud bangs on the door. A pause, then another bang-bang-bang. And another.

Cas swung his legs over the bed and pulled his robe around himself, tying it with a puzzled expression. Who would be here at this hour? Sam had made it pretty clear during their last encounter that he wanted nothing more to do with him, at least until his shoulder healed.

His heart leapt. Could it be Dean?

He padded across the chilly linoleum floor and rested a hand on the door handle just as it rattled again. Then he pressed his eye to the peephole, trying to simultaneously contain the hope bursting in his chest while also reminding himself that there was no point in getting his hopes up. It wouldn't be Dean. Of course it wouldn't.

It was Crowley. Somehow, the sinking feeling that accompanied that discovery was far stronger than it had any right to be.

Cas pulled the door open, puzzlement climbing up through the weight of disappointment. Crowley was standing impatiently, hugging one arm to his chest.

"What do you want?" Cas asked.

Crowley huffed, haughtily taking in Cas's bathrobe-clothed form, then pushing past him into the room and turning to face him. "I thought I was going to have to bash the door down. What took you?"

"I was…trying to sleep," Cas said, not sure why he was bothering to explain himself. Crowley, after all, had cut all contact after Dean's disappearance, and both Cas and Sam suspected that he had been involved. Sam had summoned him shortly before Dean had gone missing, after all. He sighed. "What are you doing here?"

Crowley waited a beat, as if for effect, then said in a very serious tone, "Dean is missing."

Cas squinted at him, unsure whether this was the demon's idea of a joke. "Yes. I know."

For a moment, Crowley's unflappable façade slipped, and Cas saw an emotion—fear, or regret?—slip across his face. Then the smug mask was back. "Not like you think, angel," he said. "Believe me."

"What does that mean?" Cas demanded, his patience (already frayed by the constant worry and physical decay) wearing thinner. That Crowley was hinting that he knew of Dean's whereabouts…or had known about them… it confirmed every suspicion that Cas had already had, and didn't make him any more sympathetic to whatever Crowley's plight was now.

But Crowley didn't answer immediately. Instead, holding his left arm close, he eased himself into the creaky chair that accompanied the motel room's tiny linoleum table. He gazed at Cas, and Cas returned the gaze.

Cas folded his arms and growled a threatening, "Crowley."

"I may have…been apprised…of Dean's whereabouts for some time now," Crowley said finally, squinting at Cas as if not sure how this news might be received.

"What?" Cas said, his heart beginning to pound faster again. He hadn't been this close to a lead in months, and yet now he felt frozen in place, anger burning somewhere deep within him. Crowley had known. All those months and Crowley had known.

"Now. Hold your horses," Crowley said quickly, no doubt sensing Cas's rising fury. "You've got every right to be upset, I understand. But hear me out. I've actually been…with Dean…uh, not in the Biblical sense of course…"

Somehow, Cas had crossed the distance between them without being aware of even deciding to move. He grabbed Crowley by the collar, hauled him up from the chair, and slammed him against the near wall, making him yowl. He tried to squirm away but his right arm appeared to be useless, and weak though he was, Cas was able to pin him in place against the wall with his forearm across the demon's neck. It took all the willpower he had not to pull back and smash his fist right into Crowley's gasping face.

"I can explain," Crowley was babbling. "Come on now. Cas. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't important."

Cas barely registered his plea.

"Dean has been with you," he snarled, shoving Crowley back against the wall again and making him yelp.

Crowley squirmed. "It was his decision not to contact you or the gigantor. Not mine."

"Crowley," Cas ground out. "Where is Dean?"

"I made him a demon," Crowley admitted after a moment.

Cas felt, for a moment, as if the world itself had tilted slightly on its axis. His worst fear—a fear he hadn't even found the strength to voice to Sam—had been true all along. Cas stumbled back suddenly, letting Crowley drop. His anger faded as a roaring sound filled his ears.

"He died," Crowley went on, adjusting his suit one-handedly. "I knew what would happen if I put the First Blade in his hands. So I gave it to him. I thought we could rule Hell together. Clean up the mess that my kidnapping and Abbadon's little civil war left behind. Unfortunately, that's not how things went."

"What do you mean?" Cas asked, folding his arms around himself. Dean was a demon. The thought spun through his mind, obliterating everything in its path. He thought off-handedly that if Crowley didn't have information he desperately needed, he might have thrown caution to the wind and smote him right there.

"Dean, er, didn't want to rule Hell," Crowley said awkwardly. "He wanted to drink, experience the local wildlife from every angle, believe me you don't want to know, and also to perform truly, truly horrible karaoke every night. I stayed with him, hoping he'd come around, but…not so much."

"Where is he now, Crowley?" Cas ground out, not sure what to make of Dean's demonic activities and deciding that he really didn't want to ponder them too much.

Crowley gave a deep sigh and blinked slowly. He looked…tired. "Hell wasn't nearly as stable as I'd hoped it would be, after the great white bitch turned half of my denizens against me. Apparently, they got tired of waiting for me to return from my 'vacation' to rule Hell, and decided to depose me. They tried to kill me, I escaped. But they took Dean. Now, we've got to get him back."

"We," Cas repeated incredulously. There was so much wrong with that presumption that he didn't know where to start. "Where did they take him, Crowley?"

"I don't know," Crowley shrugged a shoulder, wincing slightly. "Hell, I presume."

Cas squinted at him for several seconds. "Why did you come to me?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Crowley said.

"No," Cas said. The fact that he was still contemplating whether he had the energy to smite Crowley for turning Dean into a demon meant that, as far as allies went, he had to be fairly low on the list. "You don't have demons who could help you?"

"Not that I'm sure I can trust," Crowley said delicately, and Cas remembered vaguely that he'd been betrayed by a demon who had sided with Abbadon once before. "Of course, I don't trust you, either. But I assume that you'll want to find Dean. And I figured you'd be slightly less likely to kill me on sight than Moose. Anger issues, you see."

It was impossible, of course, to argue with any of that. But Cas was still confused. "You know that I won't let you take him back," Cas said. "If we find him. Sam and I will cure him."

Crowley waved a dismissive hand. "Cross that bridge, and so on. As long as Abbadon's supporters—don't even know who's riling them up, if you can believe it—don't have him and the First Blade, I'll be better off. So are you with me, or not?"

"I have to tell Sam," Cas said, taking a few steps toward the night table where his phone had been charging and reaching for it.

"Wait!" Crowley said.

Cas raised an eyebrow, hand still outstretched. "Why? Sam has been searching for Dean for months. As I have."

"Because he's not found, yet," Crowley said, as if it should be obvious. "And because if Moose gets word that I'm the one who took him from dead to demon, what do you think the chances are he won't try to kill me? Come on, now, we've been over this." When Cas hesitated, he added, "I can get Dean back, with your help. I can't do it if I'm bloody dead, or running from an overgrown Winchester."

Cas sighed, but picked up the phone anyway. Crowley's eyes followed it like it might suddenly bite. "I'm going to leave him a voice mail," Cas said. "He's kept some of Dean's phones. He turns them on to check them weekly. He won't find out about this until Saturday."

It was Tuesday.

"…Fine," Crowley said grudgingly. "Plenty of time to do what we need to do."

Cas paused, finger hovering over the little line of text that read Dean Cell #3. It was, as the answering feature would tell him when he dialed, Dean's other other other cell. His stomach flipped at just the thought of hearing Dean's voice again, until it occurred to him that it was a real possibility he would see the actual Dean again. He set the phone down.

"What do we have to do?" he asked.

Crowley's face lit up. "Easy. Well. Kind of. I assume Squirrel is in Hell. Demons, after all. If he is, we can find him."

"Yes, you said that," Cas said impatiently. For a moment, the thought slipped through his mind that it was insane to trust Crowley, and that perhaps he should dispose of him and then try to find Dean himself. But it passed just as quickly. He was in no shape to mount an attack on Hell like he had six years before, especially not without a garrison of angels at his back. If he was going to go in, he'd need help from someone on the inside.

"Yes. Right." Crowley shook his head slightly, as if trying to marshal his thoughts. "Well. In Hell, there's a room of sorts, like those big security rooms they have in malls and banks and such, where a person can watch all the cameras. Of course, there aren't literal cameras, but there're spells and enchantments and so on that allow a person to see what's going on in all corners. All we have to do is get in."

He paused dramatically, making Cas wonder, "And how do we do that?"

"Well," Crowley said, "As king I had full access. As…deposed king with an angel as a wingman" (he smirked) "we'll have to take the back entrance. Lots of areas not often tread, by demons or anything else. Very Frodo and Sam sneaking into Mordor, if you catch my drift."

The phrase sent several thoughts and images cascading through Cas's head, which meant that it was a pop culture reference instilled by Metatron. He frowned briefly, sorting them out, then said, "I see. Like when Gollum let Frodo and Sam through Cirith Ungol to reach Mount Doom, nearly causing them to meet their destruction by the giant spider Shelob."

"Erm…yes. Exactly," Crowley agreed, squinting at Cas in plain confusion. He rubbed at his immobile shoulder with a mild grimace before going on. "In any case, we should be able to get past most of the nasties if we take a few ill-trodden routes. Once we've located Dean, we can find a way to free him. That's why I need you, after all. They won't be expecting an angel. Not even one whose batteries need a good recharging, long as you don't mind a few tough spots."

"I'm fine," Cas said, then regarded Crowley thoughtfully. "You're hurt. How can I be sure that you're up for this?"

Crowley glanced down at his shoulder, as if surprised Cas had mentioned it. "This? Souvenir from my grand escape. Barely a scratch."

Cas nodded, satisfied for the moment. He found that, as insane as it was to trust Crowley to lead him through Hell for simply the chance to find Dean, with no guarantee that they'd even be able to free him, or that Crowley wouldn't simply try to kill him as soon as he didn't need him anymore, the last few months without his friend had been so painful that there was really no question. Of course he'd go after Dean. Of course he'd risk everything he had.

The memory of standing over a bloodied Dean with an angel blade raised, as Dean choked out, "I need you," sprang to his mind unbidden, as it did occasionally. But now, instead of the usual rush of mixed guilt and amazement that Dean actually felt that way about him, he felt only one thing: a certainty that as much as Dean had once needed Cas, Cas needed Dean. Without Dean, his life was empty.

"Very well," he said finally, eyeing Crowley. "How do we begin?"

"Well," Crowley said, eyeing him back, "first things first, angel. Put on some bloody pants."


	2. Chapter 2

As soon as Cas had disappeared into the little bathroom to dress put his face on (or whatever) Crowley sagged back in the chair, letting his eyes close. His shoulder was throbbing unbearably, but it wasn't just the physical discomfort that was driving him up the wall. It was the fact that, despite all of his best efforts, he was _feeling_ things. A lot of things.

He was, of course, very concerned for himself. He'd thought that Hell was back under his control, but he'd clearly misjudged the situation badly. He was in danger, and he hated being in danger. He was also in pain, which he hated. The demon who'd headed up the efforts to kill him—some bloke named Alphonso who'd used to work in soul accounting and as far as Crowley knew had no particular grudge against him—had actually shot him with something. Whatever it was (and he wasn't totally sure himself—all he knew was that it had the power to hurt him) had was lodged in good and he couldn't get it out. Nor was there anyone he could go to do it. He'd resigned himself to putting up with it circumstances…changed.

But that wasn't all. On top of his very reasonable fear and pity for himself, Crowley found that he was worried about Dean. Captured and outnumbered by unfriendly demons, he supposed the chances that they _weren't_ torturing him for fun were probably pretty low. Occasionally, the worry morphed into a hollow, soul-sucking sensation that it took him a bit longer to place. Guilt. He was actually feeling bad about having gotten him into this situation. And then there was one more, which he had resolved never to admit to anyone or even think about if he could help it: he actually missed having Dean around. As frustrating as it had been waiting for his very own Knight of Hell to put down the beer and do something, well, Hell-ish, the last several months with Dean had been some of the best of Crowley's life, including all those years before he died and became a demon.

It was all the Winchesters' fault, of course. If they hadn't captured him and dosed him up with human blood, he'd never have lost his grip on Hell, and even if he had, he wouldn't have had to sit here wallowing in _feelings_.

The bathroom door popped open. Crowley forced himself to straighten as Cas walked out. The angel had put on his suit, at least, and he picked up the trench coat from his bed and started putting it on.

"We'll have to go in through a portal," Crowley said, as Cas walked around the room and collected his angel blade, and—absurd as it seemed—his wallet and keys, and stowed them all in his coat. He noted that the angel was moving stiffly, and that he looked unusually tired, but put the thought out of his mind. He didn't exactly have any better options, and he wasn't about to start worrying about bloody Castiel, the world's least trustworthy angel.

"Why?" Cas asked.

Crowley sighed. For a four billion-year-old being, Cas could be impressively dense. "Obviously, we can't go in through the front doors, seeing as Abbadon's best are undoubtedly at the gates." He really had to find out which demons in particular were behind the upset. "As for teleportation, you may have noticed that we don't just let angels in. How long did it take you to fight your way in to rescue Squirrel? Not to mention, we'll show up on Hell radar the second we do. Can't chance it."

"I suppose you have a point," Cas admitted grudgingly. "Where is the nearest portal?"

Crowley grabbed Cas's elbow with his good arm and concentrated a second. In a blink their surroundings had changed—they were in a wide, damp field, surrounded by several dozen grazing sheep.

He forced himself to crack a grin, though the trip had taken a bit more out of him than he was strictly comfortable with. "Home sweet home, actually."

"We're in Scotland?"

He'd be damned (again) if the angel didn't sound at least a little impressed. "Yeah," he said. "Little known portal. Never even been myself." He snapped his fingers and muttered an incantation. The portal came roaring to life, a mess of swirling, whirling interdimensional travel with a solid five foot diameter. It hovered in the air about chest level and made a rushing sound like a whirlpool.

Crowley stepped in front of it, folding his arms and letting his expression sober. The sudden loud bleating of a sheep diluted the moment a bit, but he carried on regardless. "Before we go in, though, angel, there are a few things we need to get straight."

The angel's eyebrow rose slowly, and Crowley could practically see the gears working in his mind. No doubt, the same gears that had led Castiel to betray him four years before. "What?" Cas asked. The angel's distrust of him came through clearly in his tone, which Crowley found wholly unwarranted. Crowley, after all, had never broken his word. He supposed the angel was still tetchy about him demonizing Dean, but it wasn't like he'd ever pretended to have done anything different.

"Number one," Crowley said sharply. "While we're in Hell, you do exactly as I say. You may be an angel, but your light there is flickering, and I won't have you going off and doing anything stupid and getting us both in trouble."

"I can handle myself, Crowley," Cas said dangerously.

"Number two," Crowley said, ignoring him. "You will not try to harm me in any way. Even after we've rescued Dean. This should go without saying, but, obviously knowing you…" he shrugged. "And that includes putting me in danger and leaving me there. If we're in this, we're in this together."

"Crowley…"

"Number three," Crowley said. "When we rescue Dean, you don't get him."

"Excuse me?" Cas said. He turned on Crowley, effectively towering over him.

Crowley shifted his weight slightly, tipping his chin up and narrowing his eyes. He hadn't anticipated a fight, but if it came to one he supposed Cas would find that, hurt or not, Crowley was still more than a match for him. "I said," he enunciated, "that when we free Dean, he's not automatically yours. I don't care what kind of a crush you've got on him."

"I will never agree to that," Cas said bluntly.

Crowley glared up at him, wishing that Cas was just a little bit less tall. He never _seemed_ tall around the Winchesters, after all. "Look. I need Dean on my side if I'm going to have any chance to turn this bloody rebellion around. Once that's done…whatever. You can take him and put him through that torture you call a 'cure.'"

"No," Cas said.

"No?" Crowley echoed. "You do realize I'm your best and only chance to see your boy toy in one piece again. Do you _know_ what they do to demons that fall out of favor Hell?"

They stared at each other for a few tense seconds, neither willing to budge. The only sound between whem was the _whoosh_ of the swirling portal and another sudden, loud _baaa_. Followed by another. Then another, and another. All of a sudden, the sheep were going nuts.

"What the…?"

Crowley looked up in time to discover that despite being in the middle of absolutely nowhere in a sheep field, they were not alone. Approaching at a breakneck speed from all directions were roiling, purplish clouds of demon smoke. In the seconds it had taken Crowley to register what exactly was going on, the demons had crossed more than half the distance of the field. They had seconds at most.

Cas had apparently come to the same realization. He stared up at the approaching demons and inhaled sharply. "Come on."

"Come—" Crowley started to say, but was interrupted by a hundred and eighty pounds of angel flying right at him, hitting him squarely in the chest, and knocking straight back into the portal.

He cried out involuntarily in surprise and pain in his mangled shoulder, but the sound was swallowed by the otherworldly roar of the portal, before they both landed on the other side with a meaty thud. Cas extricated himself from Crowley quickly and stood, staring at the other side of the portal—through which a view of the field, sheep, and approaching demons was still visible, though distorted as if it were a view from underwater.

"How do I close it?" Cas snapped.

"Won't help. They'll just open it again," Crowley gritted from the floor, watching the smoke fly closer, closer, closer, and trying to think.

There was an incantation to not just close it but destroy it, but it had been decades since he'd glanced at the spell and it took a good deal of energy and his shoulder was still throbbing unbearably from his rough and sudden contact with the ground. He closed his eyes in concentration, muttering the words he recalled and channeling his own demonic power into them in a might effort.

The roaring ceased. When Crowley opened his eyes again, the portal was gone.

"What did you do?" Cas asked. The angel was standing above him with his hands on his hips.

Crowley sunk back a moment, mildly dizzy. Putting that much power into anything, even when he was in tip-top shape, was always good for a few minutes of wooziness. Then he started pushing himself up with a grimace, keeping his bad arm tucked against his stomach. Cas, the poor excuse for an angel, didn't even offer him a hand.

"Portal's toast now," Crowley said. He was sitting upright now and decided to take a breather. "Gone. If they want to come after us they'll have to come in another way, and that will mean finding us."

"They found us once," Cas points out.

"Well now, we're…" Crowley glanced around. They've landed in what looks like a deep cave room, lit only by an orange light emanating from something moldy-looking attached to the stalactites clinging to the ceiling and the stalagmites jutting up from the floor. Their jagged edges made them look like teeth, as if they were sitting in the closed mouth of some great beast. In the center of the room was a wide, dark pool, its waters placid. Crowley frowned. "I've no bloody idea where we are, actually. Somewhere in Hell, I presume. One of the weird parts."

There were plenty of weird parts. Most of them had been adapted into torture devices of various kinds—like the endless cavern with the ropes and the hooks. (A personal favorite.) A few remained untouched, though.

"How did they find us in the first place?" Cas asked, seemingly less interested in figuring out their immediate surroundings.

Crowley shook his head, and started climbing to his feet. His shoulder throbbed harder, but he clenched his teeth and ignored the pain. He'd showed enough weakness in front of the angel today. He needed him, but he trusted him about as far as he could throw the big Winchester. He was acutely aware that Cas had not agreed to listen to him, refrain from hurting him, or (though this had admittedly been a long shot) let him have Dean in the end.

"I don't know," he ground out once he was on his feet again.

"So, what now?" Cas asked.

"Patience," Crowley grumbled. Cas glared at him. "I have to get my bearings. Which I think will mean getting out of this place."

"How?"

They both looked around again. Then Crowley's eyes settled again on the pool. "Oh, you're bloody kidding me," he muttered.

Cas let out a breath beside him. "You think we have to swim?"

"You see any other way out?" Crowley asked.

"No," Cas said.

And together, they dove into the pool.


	3. Chapter 3

_Sorry for the wait, folks! I had a couple of busy weeks but I should be back to regular updates now._

* * *

The water was icy cold and it shocked Cas's entire body as he dove into it. For a moment his vessel almost forgot that it didn't need to breathe, and he nearly look in a lungful of freezing water in his surprise. For a few long seconds he hung in the water, sinking slowly, before he found the dying spark of his grace and used its power to satisfy his vessel's need to take in air. The cold, he was powerless against. The drafty motel room had been unpleasant enough.

Crowley had plunged in a few feet away from him and was already making awkward strokes down into the darkness below. Cas shook himself and followed, his sodden clothes swirling around him. He wasn't about to rid himself of them, though. He could swim well enough in his shoes and coat, and he didn't much fancy the idea of being without them as they delved deeper into Hell. His angel blade bumped at hsi side.

Even with angel senses—fading though they were—Cas found it hard to see more than a few feet in any direction. Still, he found himself falling into a rhythm, the motion keeping his failing vessel reasonably comfortable, if not warm, and as the minutes passed even the nagging urge to breathe faded into the background.

Unfortunately, in the dark, silent stillness, with Crowley's thrashing movements in front of him the only thing to draw his attention, Cas found that he had a lot to think about.

Although the urgency of their mission and their hurried flight through the portal had pushed it from his mind temporarily, he was incredibly angry. Moreover, a good portion of that rage was aimed directly at Crowley. It was Crowley's fault that Dean had been turned into a demon, and Crowley's fault that he had been drawn away from the bunker. Which made it Crowley's fault that Cas and Sam had been searching fruitlessly for months, Sam growing gaunter with each week and Cas's grace fading just as surely as their hope. All of those months of misery, of stress and worry and fear, were Crowley's fault. And then of course there was all that had happened to Dean. Cas could honestly not imagine the suffering that becoming a demon must entail, especially for a man so concerned with doing the right thing as Dean had always been. Or rather, the suffering that it would entail when they finally got him back and he had to face whatever he'd done. Then, of course, there was whatever Dean was going through now. Cas knew admittedly little of what demons did to their own after a shift in power, but he knew what they did to their enemies, and he had little reason to expect that Dean would be faring any better. Demon or not, the thought of his friend trussed up and tortured in the myriad ways that Hell excelled at twisted his gut, and fueled the fire of his rage.

As he swam, a few feet behind Crowley, he fantasized about grabbing him by the ankle and yanking him back, then pouring all of the energy he had left into smiting the bastard so he'd sink and be forgotten in this lonely place.

It wasn't just Crowley's betrayal of them that bothered him, either. That the demon had attempted to insist that Cas follow his rules, rescue him from danger and, worst of all, let him have Dean simply grated. If Crowley were not the only path to saving Dean, Cas's only avenue into Hell, he might have ended him in as soon as he'd learned of what he'd done. He owed Crowley nothing.

He swam on, impotent rage burning somewhere deep in his gut. If he were to be honest with himself, however, he had to admit that perhaps not all of his anger was directed at the demon still kicking his way forward in front of him. That Dean had died while bearing the mark, and that Sam had summoned Crowley to the bunker not minutes later, should have been enough for him to understand what must have happened. He had failed Dean all on his own.

Cas swam on, the same thoughts tumbling over themselves in his mind, until he thought he could bear it no longer. Unfortunately, there seemed to be no break in the rough, rocky walls surrounding the underwater passage, and he had little choice. There were few times he had missed his wings more (the never-ending drive from the Heaven portal to the bunker after receiving Sam's news had been one of them, and it surfaced in his memory unbidden).

His arms and shoulders burned with the strain of pulling himself along through the water. Somehow, the water surrounding him was leeching more than just his warmth—swimming through the channel seemed to be draining his energy as well, far faster than he had expected. Whether it was a sign that his grace was more depleted than he'd realized, or simply a side effect of being in Hell, and surrounding by Hellish water that no doubt had unpleasant properties all of its own, he was uncertain. He was gritting his teeth by the time a dim, reddish light began to spread through the water around them.

Crowley picked up his pace, and it was only then that Cas realized the demon had been flagging as well, the strokes he made with his right arm increasingly feeble. He wondered vaguely at the demon's injury, which had been intermittently leaving a thin trail of blood in the water behind him (just barely detectable in the pitch darkness by Cas's angel senses), but couldn't find it in himself to much care. If it became a problem in their search for Dean, he might have to address it, but otherwise all he could feel was a grim sense of satisfaction that Crowley was receiving at least a little of the suffering he deserved.

That thought, and the possibility of ending this marathon swim, gave Cas the strength he needed to close the distance between them as the long tunnel opened up, finally, to the air. Cas burst to the surface with a gasp, his body insisting on the breath, the strain on his grace lessening ever so slightly as the air filled his lungs. Crowley was already pulling himself onto dry ground.

They'd appeared in another rough, cave-like room, the tunnel opening a circular hole with steep sides no more than five feet wide in the stone floor. Cas hooked his elbow over the edge and started hoisting himself up. As he did, he noticed that theirs was not the only pool in the room—there were dozens, and many of them appeared far less placid than theirs. Several were bubbling violently, and a few seemed to be giving off noxious fumes. As he watched, one relaxed from a vicious boil to look as cool and calm as their own.

"Huh," Crowley said, glancing around from where he was sitting, holding his hurt arm close to his chest.

Still gasping, Cas made it to his hands and knees on the other side of the little pool.

A second later, the pool between them burst into violent bubbling of its own, heat radiating outward.

Cas jumped, heart pounding far faster than it had any right to.

He gazed at Crowley across the boiling water from which they'd just spent more than an hour, not even sure whether to be surprised. While he doubted it would have killed either of them, being submerged in boiling water for hours would have been extremely uncomfortable, and would have sapped even more of his energy than the cold had. He might not have even had the strength to continue if it had. The thought of how close they'd come to that, and to what would almost certainly have been the end of their rescue attempt, sent a jolt of anxiety through him. He had thought, at least, that he could trust Crowley to lead him through Hell without incident. Apparently, even that trust had been misplaced. He had also underestimated how treacherous even the uninhabited parts of Hell could be. He knew on an intellectual level, of course, that all of Hell was infused with a dark energy that made it the perfect place for damnation. But it hadn't quite occurred to him just how capricious that dark energy might be. He would truly have to watch his step, particularly since Crowley seemed incapable of doing the one thing Cas had trusted him to do.

"Huh," Crowley said again, frustratingly unfazed.

Whether it was his cavalier attitude toward nearly boiling the both of them alive, or simply the inevitable result of spending two hours staring at Crowley's kicking feet while having fantasies about smiting him that drove Cas to climb to his feet, pick Crowley up by the sopping lapel and slam him against the nearest wall for the second time that day, he wasn't sure.

"Ow!" Crowley exclaimed as his shoulder hit the wall, a real grimace eclipsing his feigned offense for a few moments, before he added, "What's that for?"

"Did you know that that was going to happen?" Cas growled, snapping the first thing that came into his mind though really, it was the least of Crowley's offenses.

Crowley made a vague gesture at the water with his good hand, then said in a totally unconcerned tone. "That? No. If I'd known that don't you think I might've told you to hurry?"

His anger boiling over as sure as their underwater passage, Cas didn't hesitate before punching Crowley in the mouth. That wiped away the smug, unconcerned expression quickly enough.

"I'm trusting you," Cas ground out, more frustrated with himself for that fact than anything. He pulled Crowley far enough from the wall that he could toss him against it again, knocking his head against it and rattling his teeth. It was extremely satisfying.

"Oi, knock it off," Crowley said, after hissing in pain. When Cas only raised his fist again, wanting nothing more than to hurt him, Crowley shoved back with surprising power.

Cas stumbled back, barely catching himself from falling into a pool in which a noxious green-tinged water was swirling lazily. When they were both at full strength, Crowley was no match for an angel's raw power. He could hold his own for a little while, no doubt, but he had been right to be flee when Cas had threatened him in that warehouse years earlier. Now, it seemed, though neither of them was anywhere near their full strength, they were on disturbingly equal footing.

Crowley gave him a lopsided grin, reaching up to touch his lip where Cas's fist had caught him. "Temper," he chided. "You know I don't usually let anyone get that rough with me until at least the third date."

Cas growled, words escaping him for a moment. "You're asking me to trust you," he ground out finally. "After what you did to Dean. To Sam. To me. And this is the best you can do?"

"Yes!" Crowley said exasperatedly, his hand traveling down from his hand to cup his wounded shoulder. "What part of I want to save Deandid you not understand? Getting us both killed is hardly a good way to go about that, now is it?" Backed against the wall and drenched, his face bloodless under its beard even in the reddish light, he looked deceptively small and harmless. Cas resolved not to be affected.

"Then you want me to believe that you are content to risk your life for him," Cas said, another wave of suspicion making it easy to ignore the pathetic picture before him. "That you, a demon who has had no compunction killing either Winchester before now and who has never done anything for anyone but himself, are willing to risk being boiled alive in the depths of Hell to save Dean."

Crowley blinked, initially surprised by the change in topic, though he recovered quickly. "I told you," he said easily. "I need him to reclaim Hell. Regain my legitimacy."

"Not at the risk of your own life," Cas said harshly. "I know you, Crowley. You would rather live in the obscurity than risk your own skin. You don't even know that having Dean by your side will guarantee your return to power. Your enemies bested you when he was there."

Crowley's face melted into something more like disbelief. "I knew you were stupid, angel, but I didn't realize you were that stupid."

Cas shoved down another wave of anger that threatened to push him forward to attack Crowley again. Instead, he just clenched his teeth and gritted, "What do you mean."

"You think I don't take risks?" Crowley asked. "Tell me, Evil Knievel, do you have any idea how difficult it is to become King of Hell? How many chances there are for it to go wrong? I take risks. It's just that I take calculated, reasonable risks, unlike you and your precious Winchesters."

"Fine, then," Cas said stubbornly. "Going after Dean like this is not a reasonable, calculated risk. There isn't enough in it for you. What are you really after?"

For a few seconds, Crowley just gave him a long, shrewd look. His expression flickered briefly to something more vulnerable, so that Cas almost expected him to admit that he cared about Dean r that perhaps he didn't even know himself. But it was gone just as quickly.

"Well," Crowley said finally, in measured voice. "Maybe that's none of your bloody business. Now, do you fancy turning back" he glanced at the still-jumping pool from which they'd climbed, "or can we get on with this?"

"Fine," Cas said shortly, realizing that as little as he wanted to admit it, he had no other option. He couldn't leave, and he didn't know the way forward without Crowley. "But understand this: if you hurt Dean, or Sam, again, I will end you."

Crowley started to wave away the statement with a "yeah, yeah, I know," but Cas cut him off.

"I will end you," Cas said again, stepping forward and glaring a hole in him, "and it will not be quick. And while we are here, I will not follow your orders. I will not help you, unless it is directly related to the mission of saving Dean. And when we find him, I will do everything in my power to make sure that you never come near him again. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Crowley said, with a mild eye roll that set Cas's blood burning again. It didn't matter that he was weak, or that he was still cold and wet and stiff. Crowley had to understand that the wrath of an angel was not to be taken lightly. But the demon's next words were placating, more or less. "I understand, angel. Untwist your panties. I won't hurt Dean, or the giant baby. I promise. If nothing else, I've learned my lesson about screwing with the lot of you."

He pulled up his wet shirt sleeve to show faded track marks left, Cas assumed, by dozens of human blood syringes.

"Believe me," he said.

"Fine," Cas said again. If nothing else, he could believe that Crowley's sense of self-preservation would win out. "Where do we go from here?"

They both looked around the cavern-like room. It was larger than the one they'd arrived in, and Cas realized that it wasn't quite as unfinished as he'd initially thought. The far wall was carved into the generically medieval, overwrought and vaguely intimidating designs that Hell seemed to favor in many of its halls. In the dim light, there appeared to be runes of some kind etched among them.

"First off, we'll find out what that says," Crowley decided, taking a cautious step forward, as if concerned that Cas might block him.

Cas stepped aside, then followed Crowley as he picked a path around the pools. The one they had emerged from had finally stopped bubbling. They stepped up to the wall and both studied it. Most of the runes, Cas recognized only vaguely as demonic symbols, part of a bastardized form of Enochian that showed up on rare occasions amidst more heavenly texts. He squinted at it, trying to recall what they meant when strung together as they were, his ever-present headache pounding harder at his attempt to concentrate.

"Good news!" Crowley announced after a short while, during which Cas had managed to decipher the words stone and something likeagony. "It's a door."

Cas raised an eyebrow, for he could see nothing of the sort.

"Bad news," Crowley added. "It's a magic door. It won't open without an offering."

"An offering," Cas echoed. "What kind of offering?"

"Blood," Crowley said. "It wants blood."

Cas was neither very surprised nor very concerned. "Fine. How much?"

"Are you volunteering?" Crowley asked.

"Yes," Cas said, as if it should have been obvious.

Crowley shrugged, producing a knife from an inside pocket. "Hold out your arm, then."

But before he could slice into the tender flesh of Cas's forearm, the wall behind them began to vibrate slightly, dust and small rocky bits crumbling down. The runes were beginning to glow red.

"Crowley?" Cas asked, wondering if perhaps the mere act of offering the blood had been enough for the door.

But Crowley was backing away, his round face tight with fear. "We didn't do that," he said.

"Of course," Cas muttered, pulling out his angel blade and wishing that for once, something could just go right. "Who did?"

But before Crowley could answer, the shaking increased and the doors exploded open, chunks of rock spewing outward to leave a gaping hole in a wall. Cas stood his ground, shielding his face with one arm.

"Oh, bugger," Crowley said.

In the empty space stood a dozen black-eyed demons, nearly all of whom were grinning right at Crowley.

* * *

 _Those of you who are waiting for the Cas whump, don't worry - it's coming. :)_

 _Otherwise, I would appreciate any comments you might have! This story is very different than anything else I've written recently, and I'm interested to hear what y'all think. Thanks!_


	4. Chapter 4

Cas looked back and forth between Crowley and the demons, who were all smiling rather evilly at him, and tensed. It was clear that these demons were not friends, but there were too many for him to easily fend off in his condition. If there was any chance they could find some other way out of this…

Crowley tipped his chin up and narrowed his eyes, in a gesture that Cas was beginning to realize meant that the demon felt threatened. "Alphonso," he said.

The demon in the middle of the pack, a tall fellow with long, curly black hair stepped forward. "You can't have thought you would get far, Your Majesty," Alphonso said.

Cas had to resist the urge to roll his eyes at the overbearingly evil sneer. Demons could be many things, but imaginative in their intimidation tactics was generally not among them. He supposed, in this situation, they didn't have to be.

Crowley did roll his eyes. "Ooh. Scary. Really, Alphonso, there's a reason you got sent to Accounting."

Alphonso glowered but didn't respond. Instead, he waved the other demons to surround them. The demons complied, grabbing them each roughly by the arms. Crowley audibly hissed in pain. A demon relieved Cas of his angel blade.

Cas caught Crowley's eye questioningly, hoping Crowley got the message: Do we fight? But Crowley only shook his head infinitesimally as if to say,No chance.

"Actually, since you mention us not getting far," Crowley went on, directing his words at Alphonso as if nothing had just passed between him and Cas, "How did you find us? You shouldn't have known we were in Scotland, or that we'd've ended up here, of all bloody places."

Alphonso answered Crowley first by punching him in the stomach. Crowley folded over, wheezing.

"You mean you don't know how?" Alphonso asked.

Crowley's head bobbed up. "Know what?"

But Alphonso didn't answer. Instead, he gestured again, and the demons jerked them forward.

Perhaps they didn't have a chance, Cas thought, fighting now—but who knew where the demons would take them, or what their chances would be then? At least here they were together and had the element of surprise on their side. He assumed that if he took his chances fighting, Crowley would have no choice but to back him. Hopeless though he thought it was.

So when the demons shoved him forward again, Cas shoved back. The demon to his right he managed to push into one of the noxious green pools, where he started writhing and splashing as if acid were eating into him, and in the same movement Cas spun around, pressing a hand to the forehead of the one on his left. She screamed as her eyes burnt out and he grabbed his angel blade from her hand before she hit the ground. He had about one more second of the demons' surprise to take advantage of and so he lunged at the next nearest pair, plunging the blade into the neck of a tall male. The other demon lunged at him with a knife, but he blocked her swing with one arm—the blade cutting deep into the meat of his forearm—and grabbed her with his other hand, drawing on his faded grace to smite her into oblivion.

Then a hard blow to his back sent him careening forward, and he hit the rough stone floor hard enough to tear the skin on his palms and his knees. He pushed himself up but a hard boot collided with his ribs—already sore where the flying chunk of stone had clipped him—and he landed on his back, gasping. Another kick and another and another—there were too many demons—and he heard the crack of his ribs almost as much as he felt it, at least for the first second. Then he was being hauled upright again, demons grasping either arm, pain blazing in his side. Another demon wrestled the angel blade from his hand, twisting his wrist violently, and handed it to Alphonso.

Crowley was still standing placidly between two other demons, watching it all unfold with wide blinking eyes and an unreadable expression. Cas felt another surge of rage. Together, they might have had a chance, and Cas had fully expected to see him fighting or at least bloodied and restrained as Cas was. After all his talk of being in this together, Crowley had no right to stand and watch while Cas fought for both of their freedom…and for Dean. Now, they truly had no chance at all.

"That was unwise," Alphonso told Cas, stalking toward him. It occurred to Cas, through the ringing in his ears and the pain making itself known all over, that this was the first the demon had acknowledged him, and that he hardly seemed surprised to have found an angel consorting with the King of Hell.

Cas glanced at Crowley, wondering what he thought about all of this, but Crowley only stared back at him blankly.

"But then, Castiel," Alphonso said, leaning in toward Cas and smirking at him, then letting the tip of the angel blade slide down Cas's cheek in a mockery of a caress and drawing a thin line of blood, "You've never exactly had a reputation for wisdom, have you?"

All of the demons were watching now, forming a rough circle around them.

Cas clenched his hands into fists. His entire side was sparking with pain, every breath jabbing painfully, and the energy he'd expended to smite the two demons had left him lightheaded and vaguely nauseous. Another escape attempt would not likely end any better than his first, but it was hard to see any other options. The one thing he was certain of was that he did not want to be taken wherever it was Alphonso and his demons planned to take him.

"Where's Dean?" Cas demanded, stalling for time more than anything else.

Alphonso's face cracked into a grin, and the demons around him chuckled as well, moving in closer. It struck Cas as an odd reaction but he stowed the thought away.

"Tell me where Dean is," he tried again.

"We were told how you felt about Dean," Alphonso said. He dragged the tip of the angel blade along the underside of Cas's jaw. "Our new king has—"

BOOM!

Whatever else Alphonso was going to say was cut off by a sudden, invisible force slamming into him—and into the demons surrounding him, throwing them all across the cavernous room like so many bowling pins.

For a split second, he saw an unexpected image of Crowley—Crowley standing tall, one palm outstretched, grinning as the power crackled around him, the two demons on either side sparking into death—and then he was turning over in the air and rolling to a rough stop on the ground in between two bubbling pools. All around him demons were falling as well, some splashing into in pools with and others skidding to a stop like Cas. Alphonso landed headfirst in a particularly noxious green one nearby, emitting a strangled bubbling noise for a few seconds before stilling.

Cas pushed himself up dizzily, coughing and tasting something metallic, completely confused. Then there were hands, helping him up.

"Get up," Crowley said. Up close, the triumphant, powerful look was gone, his skin was grayish under his beard and he was trembling visibly. "…They won't be out long."

"What did you do?" Cas asked. He and Crowley were the only ones moving.

"Waited until you had all their attention, then let loose," Crowley said. "Really, Castiel. Trying to fight twelve demons all on your own? Totally predictable, of course. Just had to wait for my moment."

"You hit me," Cas pointed out, not sure whether to be mollified that Crowley hadn't been planning to leave him to die, or to be annoyed that Crowley had anticipated Cas using himself as a distraction.

"Aimed as best as I could," Crowley said impatiently. "You're conscious, aren't you? Now, I need your help. We've got…half an hour, maybe, before they all start waking up."

Cas hesitated, still on his knees though Crowley was trying to heave him up with his good arm. "We should take one of them with us."

"What?" Crowley snapped. He gave up on picking Cas up for a moment to be properly confused.

"They know something about Dean. If we can convince one of them to tell us where he is, we can go straight to Dean," Cas said. "We won't even have to go to this security room. They also appear to have information about this new king of hell."

"Can't risk it. We need to get away from them," Crowley said, redoubling his efforts. With a mighty heave and a grimace he managed to get Cas to his feet. "And I need your help."

Suppressing a cough and tasting metal again, Cas wrapped an arm around his chest. He wondered vaguely if Crowley had really had any idea just how weak he was when he'd come to his door asking for help, or how much weaker he was now, and supposed it best not to ask. Then he picked his way over to the demon who had stolen his angel blade a second time (this one was lying half in a pool that smelled strongly of sulfur) and took it back, stowing it in his still-damp coat. His right wrist was stiff and sore, but he forced himself to ignore it along with the stabbing pain in his side. Really, he had gotten off better than expected.

"Alphonso hinted he could find you anywhere," Cas remembered, glancing at the now skinless, floating corpse in a tattered coat that was all that remained of the demon.

Crowley let out a long sight. "That is why I need your help. Do you ever listen?"

Cas tilted his head in confusion.

"What he said. I assume they're tracking me," Crowley explained. He glanced down at his hurt shoulder. "Only thing I can think of. Al here shot me with something before I managed to make my grand escape. Whether it's meant to be an occult homing device or if it's just powerful enough to send off a signal they can track, I don't know. But I can't get it out myself, believe me, I tried. That's why I need your help. Preferably before they all come to and start trying to kidnap us again."

"You want me to remove a bullet from your shoulder," Cas clarified, frowning.

"Yes," Crowley hissed frustratedly. "Or whatever it is. I didn't see it, I felt it."

Cas glanced around at the unconscious bodies surrounding them and nodded. "Very well. Sit down and take off your shirt."

Crowley didn't hesitate. He shucked off his drenched coat, then dropped to one knee a little too fast, then resettled himself into a sitting position between two pools with a grimace. Once on the ground, he started untying his tie awkwardly with one hand.

Cas knelt behind him, noting the large stain of blood that spread across Crowley's dark shirt at the back of his shoulder blade. It was clear that the wound was still bleeding sluggishly, leaving a dark splotch in the damp material. Then Crowley undid the buttons of his shirt and pulled it gingerly off his arm and shoulder.

Crowley's shoulder was a mess. Whatever had hit him had left a large entrance wound, perhaps an inch or two in diameter, in the center of his shoulder blade. It had gone straight through the bone, and Cas could see little white splinters sticking out through the gory mess, along with what looked like the shredded remnants of Crowley's previous shirt. And the whole area was tender and red and puffy, as though it were infected—which was, of course, odd for a demon. On another occasion, he might have been amused by the fact that the demon had bothered to find a new suit in between being ambushed and losing his kingdom and going to Cas for help. Now, though, he found something disquieting about it.

He still wasn't pleased with Crowley—far from it—but the thought that his companion had been nursing an injury of this magnitude without complaint made him feel something strange. He had always assumed that Crowley would never suffer on anyone else's behalf, if he could avoid it, and yet (whatever his true motivations were), he had apparently been willing to deal with considerable pain in the hopes of getting Dean back.

As another cough rumbled in Cas's chest, bringing with it another spasm of pain the taste of blood, he supposed that he and Crowley did have one thing in common. On the other hand, the question of Crowley's motives had grown even murkier. Cas, of course, would suffer anything for Dean because he cared about him very strongly—more so, if he were to be honest, than he had ever found himself able to admit to Dean or even to himself. But Crowley… certainly Crowley could not have the same motivation.

"Well?" Crowley prompted.

"Your shoulder's badly damaged," Cas reported, then asked out of genuine curiosity, "Why didn't you ask me to do this earlier?"

"Didn't know they were tracking me," Crowley grunted.

"Yes, but, it must be painful," Cas said, leaning in to study the injury more closely.

"Of course it is," Crowley said. "Now will you get on with it? Tick, tock."

Cas pulled out his angel blade and positioned the tip of the entrance to the wound. Crowley braced himself, his shoulders tensing while his head bowed. Then Cas dug the blade in.

The puffy flesh gave way easily to the blade, and he worked it in, trying to open up the wound enough to find whatever had lodged into Crowley's shoulder. Though Crowley had made a small noise when Cas had initially pushed the tip of the blade in, he remained impressively quiet otherwise, his eyes pressed shut and jaw clenched.

Cas frowned slightly. It seemed almost as though whatever it was had worked itself in deeper since it had been shot into Crowley's back. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see one of the demons twitching…

He pushed the blade in further, finding where the thing had punched into Crowley's shoulder blade, then stuck his fingers roughly into the opening. Crowley jerked and let out a sharp grunt of pain, but it had worked. He felt the smooth, foreign outline of something beneath his fingers, pressed up against the jagged bone. A sharp jab with the tip of the blade knocked it loose—eliciting a shout from Crowley—and he fished it out with his pointer and middle finger.

"I've got it," he said. Other demons were beginning to twitch or move fitfully now. "Can you move?"

Crowley slumped forward, taking a gasping breath and letting out a formless groan. "Give me a bloody second, will you?"

"The other demons are moving," Cas pointed out. He glanced down at the blood covered thing in his hand. It was small, and smooth, and fairly unremarkable. It looked like a small stone. Just how it had done so much damage, or left Crowley's wound swollen and infected-looking, he wasn't sure.

"What is that?" Crowley asked. He held out his hand and Cas dropped it in. "Huh."

As Crowley examined the thing, Cas leaned over and stabbed the nearest demon, whose eyes had started to flutter, in the throat. Wondering why he hadn't thought to do this earlier, he staggered to his feet and dispatched of all but one.

"Oh yeah," Crowley said exhaustedly. "Good idea. Now, we've got to go."

"Why? What is that thing?" Cas asked.

Crowley held it up to one eye, squinting at it. "Honestly? Still not sure. It stays here. We go."

He tossed it into one of the acidic pools. There was a small explosion as it hit the surface, and then it began sinking. Then, slowly, laboriously, he started pulling his shirt back on.

On a whim, Cas knelt beside the pool where Alonzo had fallen and used his angel blade to hook his belt and pull him toward the edge. Wincing, he heaved what was left of him onto dry ground, then dug his hands into the pockets of Alphonso's tattered coat, feeling the sting of the acid soaking through the fabric. He pulled out what looked like a small pistol and pocketed it.

"I left one alive," he informed Crowley. "We should bring her with us."

"What?" Crowley said.

Cas rolled his eyes. "You can't be tracked anymore. We're not about to be followed, unless we stay here, where we've left the tracking device. We should bring the demon with us, and interrogate her elsewhere. We need to find out where Dean is. And who has him. This may be out best chance."

"…Fine," Crowley sighed, grimacing. "But you're carrying her."


End file.
